


Lieutenant Jee and the Sunshine State

by Lady_of_the_Flowers



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jeeko Summer 2015, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_the_Flowers/pseuds/Lady_of_the_Flowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lieutenant Jee moved to Florida for work, the last thing he expected was to find himself living across the hall from his former commanding officer and said officer's spoiled, obnoxious, unreasonable shit of a nephew. Who also happens to be insanely attractive. Not that Jee is looking. Because he's definitely not. All it takes is a building-wide a/c outage and some very ill-advised yelling for things to begin to, ahem, heat up. In more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lieutenant Jee and the Sunshine State

**Author's Note:**

> this is for anon on princebender who asked for heatwave jeeko without air conditioning. very promising prompt, sorry this got a bit off-topic.

Apparently it was 92 degrees outside, but with the rain and humidity, it probably felt more like 100. Jee knew this because he’d been checking the forecast on his computer in fifteen minute intervals since the thunderstorms started at noon, in between filling out order forms and ignoring phone calls from Zhao, the newly-promoted manager. He should never have moved to Florida, not for “work” or any other reason. He was too old and too burned out to think the sacrifices to his quality of life could possibly be worth the raise. But he’d done it anyway, the prospect of transferring to the Florida branch all the more alluring compared to the two feet of snow piled up in his driveway in Massachusetts. Of course they pitched the transfer to him in winter. He would never have taken it otherwise. He’d been told this place was a paradise but in fact it was the lowest rung of purgatory, heated by the rising flames of hell.

All he asked from the universe right now was to be able to get out of the office and go home to his bare, empty apartment, his TV, and an ice-cold beer or three. Or five. Unfortunately there were still two big orders to put through and a slew of pissed off emails about the latest recall on assault rifles. And to make matters worse, the air-conditioning in the office whirred at just the right pitch, coupled with the flickering of the florescent lights, to give him a pounding headache by the time 5 o’clock rolled around. At least he no longer got hungover in the morning. There was that. 

He felt a little guilty complaining, even in the privacy of his own head. It was a nice apartment, especially compared to the dive he’d lived in right when he got out of the navy, and entirely paid for by the company. In fact, he’d been told the place was handpicked for him by Ozai ( _the_ Ozai, of Ozai International) himself, all the way from headquarters in Fairfax County, Virginia, to ensure he was happy in his new location. But Jee had no delusions about that, not anymore. He knew the preferential treatment came with a price, and one day Ozai was going to call in a favor that Jee would have no choice but to give.

Traffic on his way home was a nightmare, as usual, and he swore and leaned on the horn and inched slowly through the streets of downtown Tampa, windshield wipers going a mile a minute. His shirt was damp from the dash to his car and sweat trickled from his armpits and the back of his neck. Still, only three more blocks and one short but slow trip down the expressway until he was home sweet home at Ocean Vista Condominiums, complete with palm trees and a distant, muggy view of the water.

Someone had parked their obnoxiously red Mercedes-Benz in Jee’s designated parking spot, three guesses who _that_ might be, so there was another dash through the rain, leaving Jee steaming mad (literally) as he squelched through the tastefully-decorated foyer of his building, which was otherwise unremarkable besides one thing. It was hot. Nearly as hot as the outdoors but somehow even more unnatural and stifling.

Jee took the elevator up to the second floor, because fuck physical fitness, if he didn’t get some pain relief in his system right now his head was literally going to explode. The elevator was hot too, and immediately filled with the fumes of Jee’s body odor which, frankly, was gross. Even to him.

It wasn’t until he unlocked the door to his condo that he realized what the problem was. The a/c was out. _Everywhere_. Instead of being met by a wave of blissfully cool air upon entering, as he’d come to expect, the air in his darkened apartment was listless, humid, and hot. So hot. Like downtown Tampa sidewalk hot. He walked through the living room into the kitchen, then the bedroom, then the bathroom, checking, but there was nothing. Not even the ghost of a breeze coming from the vents. Fuck.

Jee peeled off his sweaty button-down, grabbed a beer from the fridge (at least _that_ was still working), swallowed only slightly above the recommended dose of ibuprofen. He collapsed on his couch just in time to hear someone knock on his door. Not again. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe if he just pretended he wasn’t home, whoever it was would go away.

No such luck.

“Hey, I know you’re in there!” It was the kid next door. Of course it was. The most entitled brat to ever walk the earth, with an uncle (Jee’s former commanding officer, it was kind of a funny coincidence, really, on a good day) who indulged his every whim.

“Go away!” He yelled in response, but the knocking resumed, accompanied now by the insistent, piercing doorbell, and he had no choice but to ease himself up off the couch and open the door a crack, “What do you want?”

“The air conditioning’s broken.” Zuko’s eyes flicked down to his bare chest then back up, looking slightly disconcerted. Like Jee needed any more reminders that he’d been going downhill since he hit forty.

“No shit, kid.”

Zuko scowled in response, the scarred left side of his face remaining eerily static, “Do you have any electric fans? Uncle refuses to buy one and I’m _dying_. It’s like an oven in our place.”

“I only have—” Before Jee had a chance to finish, Zuko pushed past him into the apartment like he owned it, smelling strongly of sweat and incense with the faint tang of cigarette smoke beneath. He went straight to the blinds covering the glass doors leading out to the balcony and yanked them up. Glaring grey light filled the room, and Jee winced, the pain in his temples spiking. Only Florida could make cloudy weather even more unpleasant. 

“Why were you sitting in the dark?” Zuko asked, the little shit, and turned the lights on for good measure.

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” Zuko began poking around the living room, opening and closing closet doors at will. The intrusion set Jee’s teeth on edge, but he sat back down on the couch anyway. He’d kick Zuko out as soon as his head stopped hurting and the beer had a chance to revive him.

“This whole outage is completely ridiculous.” Zuko said as he dug through the folded pile of linens Jee’s mother had given him as a present nine and a half years ago, “I already filed a complaint with the property manager about it, but he said the repairmen wouldn’t be getting here for another _week_ , can you believe it?”

Jee could, but he didn’t want to. A full week of coming home with his daily headache from the hell that was working at Ozai International to _this_ , this soulless, overheated tomb of an apartment, empty besides the occasional uninvited guest. It was more than a man could take.

Zuko was still talking, “So I told Uncle that we should file a lawsuit against the condo association for endangering their residents and _he_ said—” But Jee had stopped listening. He watched the slope of Zuko’s shoulders beneath his red t-shirt, the play of muscles in his arms as he rifled through Jee’s cleaning supplies. Zuko was beautiful, there was no denying it. He had skin like cream with a dash of black tea, except where the burn stretched, waxy and pink, and he’d pulled his hair up into a messy ponytail. Jee sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand. Yeah, Zuko was beautiful, but he had a shitty, no-good personality, and besides, Jee wasn’t a cradle-robber.

He knew the kid’s uncle, General Iroh (now a civilian, but old habits were hard to break), was worried about his nephew. Every time Iroh came by to chat over cups of whiskey tea, he filled Jee in about bad influences and failing grades and Zuko’s general lack of interests and hobbies besides working out (and annoying the neighbors, Jee supplied silently). He’d already been held back a year, for reasons Iroh had not seen fit to disclose, and the chances of him graduating next year were slim.

Jee always wondered why the kid didn’t enlist and follow in his family’s footsteps. There had to be something there, something he didn’t know about, to explain why Zuko was the only member of an incredibly rich, high-powered dynasty who didn’t have any military aspirations. But Jee wasn’t brave or curious enough to ask.

“Did you hear me?” Zuko’s voice broke through his thoughts, “I said, I found the fan.” He was holding a dusty white contraption that Jee vaguely remembered buying when he first moved to Tampa, before he realized that using the a/c was easier, and hadn’t touched since. Zuko turned to go, “See ya.”

“Not so fast.” Jee said, “It’s the only one I’ve got, and I need it here.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” All the whining evaporated right out of his voice. The kid had a hair-trigger temper, “You didn’t even try to look for it! I bet if I hadn’t come over you still wouldn’t even know where it was. _I’m_ hot, and _I_ need the goddamn fan, and _I_ did the work—”

“That doesn’t mean you can take stuff from people’s houses without their permission.” Jee countered. Rich kids like Zuko annoyed him more than almost anything, besides rich adults. They’d never run into a wall, never wanted something they couldn’t have. Not like Jee, who wanted so many things he was never going to get, wanted things he probably shouldn’t want in the first place.

Zuko muttered, “Not the first time I’ve done it.”

Great. Just great. He had a _thief_ living next door. Jee wanted smack that insolent expression right off his face, yell his frustrations until his voice gave out. He never claimed not to have a temper, too. But he was also a considerate adult, and dropped his voice so General Iroh wouldn’t hear anything from across the hallway, “If I find out you’ve taken anything from me, so help me god, I’ll—”

“No.” Zuko said quickly, his whole body tense as a bowstring and ready to fight. Or flee, “No, I’ve never—not from you.” His good eye was wide and wary. Afraid.

“Well, that’s a relief.” He rolled his eyes, unable to hide the fact that he was feeling about a hundred years old, “What the hell were you thinking?” Fuck, his head hurt. He vaguely remembered being that age, just-turned-eighteen, when stupid choices didn’t have repercussions yet. But he’d never been Zuko’s kind of eighteen, with a sports car for his birthday, as if he somehow needed a reward simply for _existing_ , and a safety net the size of the Ozai International conglomerate to catch him if he fell.

“I don’t know.” Zuko shrugged, “Jet said it would be fun.”

The name rang a bell. Must have been one of those ‘bad influences’ General Iroh kept talking about.

“And was it?”

“Yeah. Kinda.” He squared his shoulders, “Look, save the lecture, okay? I get enough of that from Uncle.”

“Obviously not, if you’re—”

“You have no right to speak to me like that, you’re not my fucking father—” Zuko started at top volume, and Jee just couldn’t take it anymore: the grating voice, the aggravation, the constant barging in where he wasn't wanted. 

“Shut up!” He yelled, like Zuko was nothing more than a mouthy recruit, “Just shut up, if you know what’s good for you.”

Everything seemed to stop, all the noise from the street outside, and the seagulls on the balcony, and Jee’s goddamn heart. He couldn’t believe he’d said that. To the son of the CEO of the company he worked for, no less. God, he was _such_ an idiot. Even if Zuko’s murderous rage was all he got in retaliation, it would be enough. He might be a retired lieutenant from the Navy but the kid could probably still get him to the ground in about two minutes, what with his bad back and bum knee.

As soon as he’d snapped out of his own thoughts, he realized that the anger he was bracing for hadn’t materialized. Instead, Zuko looked stunned, his breath coming quick and unsteady as he nearly swallowed his next words, “I’m—I’m sorry—it’s like 100 fucking degrees in here and I can’t think straight. I should go and, and I don’t know. Sit in front of the refrigerator or something. You can keep the fan.” He set it down on the coffee table and turned to go, shoulders slightly hunched. 

There was something about the way he said the bitten-off apology (it had to be a record, the first time Zuko apologized since birth), that made Jee feel bad. He really shouldn’t. A man didn’t get anywhere in this world with a bleeding heart, his father always told him. But his father was an asshole, so.

“You can stay here, if you want.” Jee said, and tried not to think about how much he was going to regret this, “We can share the fan.”

“Wouldn’t want to _disturb_ you.” Zuko replied nastily, but the look in his undamaged eye was more nervous and uncertain than cruel. Jee reminded himself to file that thought away for later. _Not_ that he spent any inordinate amount of time thinking about the kid, trying to puzzle him out.

“Like that’s ever stopped you. C’mon, sit down.” Jee shifted over on the couch and plugged the fan in. It spun lazily to life, sending weak currents of warm air in their direction. If Jee wasn’t wary of setting the kid off again, he would have laughed. All that fighting over a cheap piece of crap. Still, better than nothing. He took a long pull of his beer, which was already growing lukewarm in the heat, and hoped Zuko wasn’t going to continue his rant about condo maintenance right where he’d left off.

Instead, Zuko sat in silence for a few seconds, perched on the edge of the couch like he’d suddenly forgotten his usual habit of taking Jee’s entire life for granted. His voice even sounded a little forced when he asked, “Get me one of those too, would you?”

“What if I don’t have any left?”

“Don’t try to trick me. I know you bought a case of Bud yesterday, and you can’t have—I mean, you probably haven’t gone through it yet. Besides, it’s not like I don’t already drink.” Zuko insisted, “I won’t tell Uncle.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Although it was, partially. General Iroh would throw a fit if he found out, especially after all the not-so-subtly worded hints he’d thrown around about Jee providing Zuko with some kind of _guidance_. Right down into hell, Jee thought the first time the General had approached him about it.

The other thing he worried about was significantly less likely to happen. It was just that Zuko was so, so lovely, and so, so terrible, and Jee _wanted_ him. Nothing he did to distance himself worked, either. He could call Zuko a kid in his head as much as he wanted, but it made no difference in the end.

He didn't want to be anywhere near Zuko if the kid had been drinking. It would be so easy to lean in and breathe that sweet adolescent musk, to be just a little closer for just a little while without all the arguing when the kid was relaxed and maybe a little horny. They could pretend it never happened but Jee would remember, always. That's why boundaries were important, even if they failed to keep his thoughts in line. He didn’t want to make a mistake. And he certainly didn’t want anyone— _especially_ not Zuko—to find out that he wanted to make that mistake so badly. 

“C’mon, _Lieutenant_.” Zuko said, a mocking lilt to the title, and damn if that wasn’t at least a little bit sexy, “I thought you were supposed to be cool. Uncle told me all the things you used to get up to when you were in the Navy.”

“That was a long time ago." Jee said, cutting short whatever nostalgic nonsense General Iroh had imparted about his younger, less jaded self. Zuko frowned momentarily, then redoubled his efforts. 

"So what? Age doesn't matter." He had that stubborn set to his face that made Jee wonder if there was anything the kid asked for that he didn't eventually get. 

Jee sighed, "Oh, alright.”  Zuko smiled, sharp with victory, and didn’t move. He seemed to be waiting expectantly for something, or _someone_. Jee pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away the last traces of his headache, which were threatening to return, “Go get it yourself, I’m not your servant.”

“Fine.” Zuko got up from the couch in a huff and rattled around in the fridge. He came back with a beer for himself and another for Jee, which was really very considerate, since he was nearly through his first one. They drank in silence, besides the hum of the electric fan, for a few awkward minutes before Jee decided to do something to make the company more bearable, if he was going to be subjected to it anyway.

Jee turned the TV on and quickly switched to CNBC before Zuko could see what it had been set to before. Just because Jee was a lonely old man who got drunk and watched classic Westerns until three in the morning didn’t mean anyone else had to know.

“Seriously?” Zuko was unimpressed anyway. He held his hand out for the remote, “Give me that.”

With another sigh, Jee handed it over so Zuko could flip aimlessly through the channels until he came to a BMX racing show. They watched bikes fly through the dirt with mutual disinterest, volume so low it was almost inaudible. Every few seconds, the white cage of the fan switched directions, blowing warm, stale air towards them. If anything, the TV was making things more awkward. Jee tried to stay focused on the screen, or at least on the movement of the oscillating fan, but it was hard when Zuko kept glancing over in his direction like he thought Jee wouldn’t notice. His bare chest was probably making the kid uncomfortable. Jee couldn’t blame him. After all, hadn’t he been similarly fixated on Zuko’s train wreck of a face for the first few weeks after they met? But it still made his skin crawl.

“Guess I should put a shirt on, huh?” Jee said, looking down at himself. He worked out at the condo’s gym almost every day he was sober, but he couldn’t help the fact that he was getting older. Sparse chest hair already gone grey, skin a little flabby, old tattoos faded to a hazy blue. Of course, he’d never been a looker. And that was before he’d spent the better part of ten years trying to out-drink time.

“Oh, no, um. It—it’s fine. You’re fine.” Zuko stuttered, and looked away quickly, red-faced, “Actually, I was, uh, gonna ask. It’s still pretty hot in here and I'm—can I take mine off too?”

Jee closed his eyes and resigned himself to burning in hell for eternity, because that’s what this moment of weakness was going to cost him, and said, “Sure, kid. Go ahead.”

Zuko pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it on the floor, a glorious display of skin and rippling muscles. The scowl on his face nearly ruined the effect, “I _told_ you not to call me that.”

“When?” Jee asked, because he didn’t remember, but more importantly, because he needed to distract himself from Zuko’s sudden shirtlessness. Loose strands of black hair plastered to his sweaty neck, small brown nipples, broad shoulders, narrow waist. The graceful slope of his back. That six-pack was no joke. Okay, so he was looking.

“Three days ago!” Zuko said hotly, and slumped back on the couch, “When you yelled at me to turn down the music.”

“Hey, just because your uncle was off at some 24-hour pai sho tournament doesn’t give you an excuse to blast fucking—”

“None of the other neighbors complained.” Zuko said, with the air of someone who thought he was winning, which Jee wasn’t going to stand for. He tried to limit the amount of times the kid won per visit. It wasn’t good for either of their egos.

“That’s because they’re too damn scared of your father to do anything about it.” Jee snapped, the worst possible thing he could have said, and wished he could swallow back the words. Zuko hunched forward like he’d just been punched in the stomach, “I—I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.” His voice was very, very calm as he slowly and deliberately straightened his back, unfurling as though the tension had disappeared when it hadn’t, when Jee could still see his pulse racing, how all the color was washed out of his face, “It’s okay. I know it’s true.”

Jee wanted to deny it, make the whole thing go away so they could continue with their usual (comfortable, he realized now) bickering, but he couldn’t bring himself to. As unlikely as it was, the kid wanted to be mature about this. So Jee would be too, “Then why would you take advantage of their fear? Doesn’t it bother you?"

Zuko looked down and picked at the tab of his beer can absently. He wasn’t going to answer, damn it. He always clammed up when things hit too close to home. But then he opened his mouth and said in a slightly strained voice, “I don’t know. Maybe a little. But.” He swallowed, “But it’s hard to remember that I’m his son, otherwise.”

Sympathy settled like a rock in Jee’s gut. His fingers itched for a cigarette. Sympathizing was not his forte, never had been, and he needed something—something to help him not say the wrong thing. He reached out and squeezed Zuko’s knee in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Zuko shivered at the touch. He must have been more upset than he looked, “Hey, I said the wrong thing. I’m sorry. I was frustrated, but I really didn’t mean to put it like that, kid—”

“Don’t call me that!” Zuko shouted, and the moment was ruined. Jee jerked his hand away like he’d been burned. He never learned, “Why do you keep calling me that when I’m—I’m old enough to—” He broke off, his face and neck flushed a splotchy red, and muttered, “I’m legal now, anyway.”

“What on earth does that have to do with—“ Jee started, then, “Oh. _Oh._ ” The realization was molten, pouring through his veins. It couldn’t be true. It didn’t make any sense. Shit like this didn’t just drop into his life out of nowhere. Besides, what about all those times Zuko barged into his life, demanding attention and space? What about all the pointless, frustrating arguments that made him want to punch Zuko’s lights out, because if he hated the kid then he wouldn’t want to fuck him, right?

Jee braced himself for Zuko to deny the implication with an onslaught of defensive, disgusted anger. But Zuko didn’t call him any of the ugly names Jee called himself (alone, in the dark, cum solidifying on his hand and sheets). Instead, he just sat there. Frozen. The look on his scarred face approaching something like hope—hope and fear in equal measures. Jee’s pulse kicked up its pace. _He wants me, he wants me._

So Jee acted without thinking, which was something the military valued, but the court of law didn’t tend to look too favorably on, and kissed Zuko’s obnoxious, perfect mouth. Zuko gasped and shuddered and kissed back almost immediately, no hesitation. He tasted—oh, god, he tasted like Coca-Cola and _youth_ , and Jee was so far gone already. He wanted to feel every inch of Zuko’s body up against his own, wanted to touch while he still had the chance, before the kid came to his senses and shoved him away. Zuko shifted in place, but it was just to get a better angle, licking into Jee’s mouth like he really wanted it.

“Come here.” Jee rumbled, and wrapped his arms around Zuko’s waist, pulling him closer until the kid was straddling his lap, holding himself in place with strong, muscular thighs. Zuko’s hands came up to cup Jee’s haggard face and the touch was tender, almost, and it made Jee angry that the kid had the capacity to be this good and never used it, never gave Jee the slightest inkling that he was anything more than pure nightmare.

Jee put all his frustration into the kiss, deepening it roughly, and when he accidentally bit down on Zuko’s lip, the kid hissed and pressed closer, swollen dick brushing against Jee’s stomach, plainly visible through the black fabric of his basketball shorts. The kid liked it. He really fucking liked it. It was—unbelievable. But Jee wasn’t about to let a minute of this bad idea go to waste. He slid his hands down Zuko’s sides until he found the notches of his hip-bones and with gentle pressure encouraged Zuko to rock his hips and bring that irresistible hardness closer with each uncoordinated movement, his groin throbbing almost painfully in response. It was obvious the kid had done this before, but not often. So much the better. The air was thick and heavy like syrup between them, and Zuko’s skin was slick with sweat, but the heat didn’t seem to matter now, not when—

His phone buzzed with a text message, which he chose to ignore because Zuko was squirming so deliciously in his lap, trying for friction. Jee let him squirm, relishing it. He’d give him friction later, if the kid still wanted it, but for now Zuko was hard, so hard, and just from kissing. It made Jee want to draw things out, see how long they could last like this before the kid spilled all over Jee's lap. One thing was nagging him, though. He glanced over at the phone without breaking the kiss, just to check that it wasn’t something important, and felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-water over his head. 

“It’s from your uncle.” Jee said, and Zuko pulled back a little, looking at him dazed. Thick black hair falling in wisps around his face, _beautiful_ , chest heaving, labored breath.  Jee reached around Zuko’s body to grab the phone off the coffee-table and scan the message, “He’s looking for you.”

“Ignore him.” Zuko said decisively, and leaned in for another kiss.

“No can do.”

“ _What_?” He asked, a familiar frown already decorating his face, and wow, Jee hadn’t missed it. Not one bit.

“You’ve gotta get out of here, kid.” Jee said, and released his hold on Zuko’s overheated skin.

“I _said_ —“

“No, I’m serious. Get out.” Jee shoved him off his lap, maybe a little too forcefully, and ignored the hurt that flashed across Zuko’s face for a second before it was gone, swallowed by the kid’s rising rage. 

“Fuck you.” Zuko all but growled, a little unsteady on his feet and still looking so perfectly kissed it made Jee’s stomach twist, “I’m not some toy you can just—”

A knock sounded on Jee’s door, that confident tap-tap followed almost immediately afterwards by the doorknob turning as it always did, (he couldn't believe he'd left the door unlocked, what a fucking fool) and there stood General Iroh, the expression on his genial face confused and relieved in turn. 

“Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, but—ah, nephew! I was hoping you were here, I noticed from the window that your car wasn’t parked in its usual spot and worried you’d gone out without telling me.”

“There’s no need to worry, Uncle.” Zuko said, with a last, scathing glance in Jee’s direction, “I was just leaving.” He stormed out of the apartment and into his own, slamming the door behind him. General Iroh shrugged cluelessly at Jee, and Jee shrugged back, trying to pretend he had no idea what was going on, that he hadn't been betraying the trust of his old friend only two minutes earlier. But the kid’s shirt was still crumpled on the floor by the couch and he was winded by the kiss and the sudden about-face and the knowledge that he’d done this, this terrible, wonderful thing, and whatever the fall-out might be, it was entirely his fault.

Jee waited for General Iroh to leave before opening the second beer and swallowing half of it in one go. He was going to need to be a lot drunker if he wanted to make it through the night with only old fantasies and vivid new memories for company.


End file.
